“Unless your maid wishes to ride on the back of myopenphaeton and see to my horses, I think my tiger will do, don’t you, Madame Bernard?” he said firmly.
She observed him coolly, then said, “Very well.”
Thank God. He was not going to let Giselle’s mother push him around, not when Giselle was old enough to do as she pleased. Indeed, most people would consider her an unmarriageable spinster, but then most people were fools about women. He was not. He could see the advantages of taking a wife closer to his own age.
When he chose a more suitable wife, that is, one who would not expect him to hand over his heart, which Giselle would undoubtedly do.
He helped her mother into the carriage, then took Giselle’s hand, but paused before helping her in to say in English, “I am meeting someone on Rotten Row in Hyde Park tomorrow whom I’d like to introduce you to.” Time to put Yates on notice about the engagement.
“Oh!” she said. “So, that is why you wish to ride tomorrow.”
“Exactly.” Perhaps he should tell her who it was. Then again, she might not appreciate his using their new betrothal so blatantly. And he might not even encounter Yates and the boys anyway. “Wear your best day gown. This is someone I am eager to … impress.”
She frowned. “I should think I know how to dress for an outing, my lord.”
He tried to look solemn and failed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to insult you.” Then, clearly taking her by surprise, he lifted her gloved hand in his. “I will be counting the moments.”
She rolled her eyes at him and whispered, “Again, you joke.”
He turned her hand to expose the inside of her wrist, which he bent to kiss, exulting when he felt her pulse quicken under his lips. “Not entirely,ma chérie.” Then, while she was still blushing, he helped her into the carriage, very much enjoying the sight of her nicely shaped derriere as she bent to enter.
Damn. He would have to watch himself around her. She had too potent an appeal to a man who’d been without a woman for some time.
With his blood still pounding—from a mere kiss to her wrist, no less!—he waved them off. His phaeton pulled up, so he climbedinto it, tucking the papers and the sketch she’d given him into a pouch below the seat.
He might as well go see Beasley now, not only because she would plague him about it if he didn’t, but also because his concern about Nash had been renewed. It made him uneasy to think of some stranger threatening Giselle. If Beasley could shed light on who the arse was, it would help ease his mind about this fellow’s true purpose. Not for a moment did Heathbrook think it was just about the Bernard ladies’ false documents.
When he arrived at Beasley’s, with the sun already starting to set, it was to see Beasley’s only daughter, Sarah, in the side garden, looking as if she were taking her farewell of a suitor. The young man stole a kiss and strutted out the garden gate as Sarah blushed and smiled to herself. The girl was what, eighteen now? He wondered if Beasley knew the boy who had her in his sights.
Their kiss reminded Heathbrook of kissing Giselle earlier. She’d responded as if ten years had melted away, and they were still standing in the cellar of the house they’d all lived in, furtively exploring each other’s mouths. It had been like a second chance at love had presented itself. Until Morris had come to him later and spoiled everything.
At the time, Heathbrook had been angry at the old man for interfering. But now he understood. After years of experience with women, he knew what a rare woman she was, and the fact that Morris had proved to be her father only reinforced it.
But this time … ah, what a kiss. She’d had the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted. And the way she’d responded, as if she, too, were caught up in it …
No, he couldn’t have read that right. Afterward, she’d seemed much more determined to preserve her virtue than she’d been ten years ago. Thank God. Because keeping his hands off of Giselle these next few weeks would take every ounce of his self-control. But he had to do it. Making her angry—or alarming her mother—was the surest way of losing her help, and he needed that to bring his brothers back to Longmead and keep them there.
“Good evening, Miss Beasley,” he said after tying off his phaeton and retrieving the pouch of Giselle’s papers. “Is your father home?”
The blond chit blushed again and curtsied. “He is, Lord Heathbrook.” She cast a worried look down the street to her beau. “You didn’t happen to see me with—”
He chuckled. “I did, but your secret is safe with me. I won’t stand in the way of young love.”Or even mere infatuation. After all, I’m not my father. Or Morris.
Her face cleared. “Oh, thank you, my lord! Papa gets very cross about the gentlemen coming round here.”
“I’m sure he does.” Poor Beasley. Thank God Heathbrook’s own mother and father hadn’t had any daughters. The last thing Heathbrook needed was to try to manage custody of a young sister with lots of “gentlemen coming round here.”
She led him into the house and down to her father’s study. “Papa has been working on a set of engravings for two days and barely comes up to eat. I’m sure he’ll welcome a visit.”
Apparently, she was right, because the minute Beasley spotted Heathbrook, he stopped what he was doing, his face full of smiles. “How good to see you, my lord! Come, come, take a look at the new Rowlandson and tell me what you think.” He turned to his daughter. “Sarah, child, go see that your mother sends tea down to me and his lordship. And some of those fine lemon biscuits, too, if you will.”
“I don’t know which I’m more pleased at the prospect of, Beasley,” Heathbrook said as Sarah hurried off. “Seeing a new Rowlandson or having one of your wife’s delicious lemon biscuits.”
Beasley laughed. “Now, don’t go coveting my wife, sir, merely because you haven’t found one of your own.”
Dideveryonethink him an unrepentant rakehell? Good God. “Interesting that you should mention wives, Beasley. As it happens, I have recently become betrothed to Miss Bernard.”
That seemed to bring Beasley up short. “Mademoiselle Giselle Bernard?”